


Chocolatey Goodness 01: Count Spikeula

by Mad Poetess (mpoetess)



Series: Chocolatey Goodness [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Food Sex, Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-07-28
Updated: 2000-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 21:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mpoetess/pseuds/Mad%20Poetess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired townies, bored vampires, and disgusting things to do with cereal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolatey Goodness 01: Count Spikeula

June, 2000

__________________________

 

"Bloody hell... we're out of Weetabix again!"

The sound of a vampire whining. Truly a healing balm to Xander Harris' already abused and exhausted ears. He climbed slowly down the stairs to his pseudo-apartment in his pseudo-parents' basement. His Job-of-the-Week, waiter/bouncer/hazardous waste disposal officer at Sunnydale's only (hence, packed to bursting) Chuck-E-Cheese, had worn his nerves to a frazzle. The last thing he needed was a grumpy, bored vampire on his hands.

"Ahh, the Children of the Night...what music they make..." he said in a muffled voice as he peeled off the blue polo-shirt that comprised half his uniform. Then, more clearly, while smoothing his dark hair back into a non-perpendicular position, "For the record, Spike, *I* am out of Weetabix again, since I bought it in the first place. I'm also out of steam, and *you* are out of your undead mind if you think I'm going back out at 11:00 just so you can have cereal that stays crunchy in blood. You're also out of my apartment if you don't shut the hell up and let me get some sleep."

Xander shook his head and looked critically at his uniform shirt-- wash or wear again? A pizza sauce stain covered the left breast in a triangle that looked like a demented Star Trek insignia. _Ensign Harris, report to Deck Three for kiddie-puke detail... _ That was the least exotic-looking stain on the shirt, and after getting the thing within two inches of his nose...eeew. Wash. Definitely. Later.

"But... but...no Weetabix..." Spike moaned tragically. "You don't love me anymore, Xander!"

"And tell me again why you're in my apartment, oh unloved one?" Xander asked tiredly, as he tossed the dirty shirt vaguely in the direction of the washing machine. It sailed over Spike's head, landing on top of a large pile of cast-off uniforms from cast-off jobs, and Xander gave a half-hearted "cha-ching" sound. _Ha-- I may not be able to keep a crappy job, but at least I can keep their crappy clothes! There's a moral victory in there somewhere, I'm sure of it. _

"Er...Initiative gits trash Spike's crypt? Harris boy not smart enough to hang crosses and garlic over door? Homeless but still hard-core vamp stops in on pathetic Slayerette in attempt to improve said boy's taste in interior decorating?" Spike jerked his bleach-blond head in the direction of the large "Sex Pistols in '66" poster he'd apparently tacked to the wall while Xander had been in Chuck-E-Cheese Hell this evening. "Any of those events ring a bell?"

"Homeless vamp betrays generous Scooby Gang to grotesque demonic-human hybrid with delusions of grandeur? Or, more recently, Harris boy threatens to stake pathetic vampire who won't shut up while courageous Slayerette's trying to get some well-deserved sleep after a *really bad week*? Ring any bells?" Ending on a harsh note, Xander unceremoniously yanked his khaki Dockers-wanna-be uniform pants down and off, and fell with an exaggerated thud onto the sofa bed, clad only in Snoopy boxers and eau de Chuck-E-Cheese.

Spike laughed mockingly. "Ooh, courageous Slayerette survives yet another night of serving overcooked pizza to six-year-olds. That'll go down in the annals of the Watchers' Council." He returned to rummaging about in the small area that served as Xander's kitchen. Then he poked his head back round the corner. "Anyway, I explained about Adam."

"Yeah, something about 'I'm evil, what the hell did you expect, now can I put this blood in your fridge, or what?' as I recall," Xander replied. One arm thrown over his eyes to shut out the light from Spike's end of the room, he sighed theatrically. "And aside from being mobbed by the rugrats at Cool Chuck's for a week straight, my loving girlfriend decided this Monday that we have no future, because I'm not in love with her. Although I'm apparently a Viking in the sack," he grumped.

"So I've heard. Wondered why the chickie hadn't been by all week. Poor courageous Slayerette. Dumped by ex-demon because *he* has a commitment problem. I take it all back," Spike oozed.

"I don't have a commitment problem. Except for the fact that I should probably be committed for not kicking you out of here. Don't suppose you could voluntarily get the hell out and stalk the wild Weetabix yourself, could you? I mean, Creature of the Night and all."

"Broke. Unless generous Slayerette wants to lend me some dosh." Spike's voice perked up.

"Bite me, Spike." Xander answered without uncovering his eyes. He'd finally accepted that while Spike was as good at head games as ever, he really was trustworthy, or at least harmless, in a physical way. Not that he ever thought about Spike in a physical way. _Nope. Never ever thought about how Spike looks in those obnoxiously tight jeans that he managed to shrink in my washer *again*. Not me. All man, me. _

Spike chuckled. "Nummy a treat as you might be, mate, biting you is unfortunately not an option." Xander cracked open one eyelid in time to see him turn back to the cabinet next to the tiny fridge. "That's why I'm trying to find some more bloody..." Spike reached into the back of the cabinet..."Shredded Wheat?" He held a box of the Nabisco delicacy in one pale hand and was looking at it in disgust.

Xander groaned. "Look, the only place to get Weetabix around here is that little import grocery on 5th, and they charge out the wazoo for it. That's the last box of freakin' Weetabix you're getting out of me, so you might as well learn to like Shredded Wheat. So there, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow, don't let the door hit you, et cetera."

"Hmph. Sacrilege. Anyway, this one's empty too." Spike said, tossing the box at the trash can with more strength than accuracy.

Xander propped himself up on one elbow, and spoke slowly and clearly, through clenched teeth. Which was an impressive feat in and of itself.

"So. Find. Something. Else. And. Shut. Up." With one last glare at the hyperactive vampire, Xander buried his head beneath a pillow and tried to sleep.

There was a bit of banging as Spike worked his way through the rest of Xander's storage space, and then silence, blessed, sweet silence. Xander began to think he might actually be able to sleep before he had to get up, shower, and prepare to greet the world at his day job. What was his day job again? _Oh yeah, stockboy. Cool stripey uniform and all the discounted Shredded Wheat you can carry home. Can't remember occupation -- need sleep. Mmm... sleep..._

But then the silence, and the still-functioning brain --_dammit _\-- began to prey on him. It might be bedtime for an exhausted Xander, but it was about noon for Spike. What was he up to that was so...damn...quiet? Xander began to listen, really listen. Finally, from the silence, came "slide...scrape... slurp...crunch crunch crunch..."

He turned over in his bed, pillow still over his eyes. _Crunch? What did he find that could possibly...crunch...oh god, no... _

Unable to shake the terrifying suspicion forming in his burned-out brain, Xander crawled out of bed and stumbled over to the card table he'd set up in his laughable little kitchenette. Blinking, he finally focused on Spike, who was seated at the table next to the tell-tale brown box, cheerfully shoveling in a huge spoonful of blood and...

"Count Chocula ???" Xander shrieked, horrified beyond all imagining.

Spike looked up innocently at him with a mouthful of bloody chocolate cereal. Not in game face. That made it even creepier. "Wha'?" he mumbled defensively. Chew. Swallow. "You said to find something else. I did."

"B...but...the Count...that's just completely disgusting!" Xander sputtered, still aghast.

"Dunno why. Stays crunchy in blood, like y'said. Endorsed by a cartoon vampire, so it's gotta be good. Even has these cute little marshmallow ghosts in it," Spike teased. "Besides, blood n' chocolate...it's like vampire Viagra." He waggled one dark eyebrow in a way that would have been distubingly sexy if he hadn't still had traces of chocolatey blood around his lips.

_OK, it's still disturbingly sexy, but also disgusting, if that's possible. Welcome to the Hellmouth._ "TMI..." Xander muttered.

"Eh?"

"Too Much Information."

"It's the iron content, or somethin'," Spike went on, grinning.

_Dammit, he's doing this on purpose! _ "It's my childhood, Spike," Xander tried to explain.

"Eh?" again.

"You've just poured blood over my childhood and now you're crunching it to pieces with your big vampire teeth." He reached for the box, and Spike blocked his way with his non-spoon-holding hand.

"How poetic. Too bad. S'good. I like it. Nummy." The vampire grinned again.

Xander looked back down at the bowl of chocolate crunchies and marshmallows, swimming in blood. Shuddered.

"Spike, I will do anything --anything-- not to ever have to see you eat Count Chocula and blood again." He reached for the box again, and this time Spike let him have it. The vampire put his spoon down slowly, and stood up.

"Anything, Harris?" He did the eyebrow thing again.

Xander backed up against the refrigerator, box of Count Chocula clutched against his bare chest. "Umm...within reason, of course..."

Spike walked around the table toward him.

"I'll switch to Shredded Wheat, or maybe Cocoa Puffs, tomorrow. But it's only fair that you give the Count a chance. How can you say this gourmet treat is disgusting when you haven't even tasted it?" The demonic grin was still in place.

Xander glanced over at the bowl still half full of Count Bloodula. Taste *that*? He looked up at Spike and shook his head resolutely. _Nope. Not me. I'll die before I'll... _

Spike cocked his head as he followed Xander's eyes to the bowl and back. If anything, the blinding grin got wider. Spike slowly shook his own head, and then, in a move that was faster than anything Xander had ever seen, Spike was right in front of him...two inches away... leaning in toward his face, and... kissing him?

The vampire's lips weren't cold at all. Warm with microwaved blood, they pressed against Xander's own, and, involuntarily, he opened his to meet them. Blood and chocolate. Lips...tongue...blood and chocolate. Sweet and warm, strong as the cold hands that gripped his shoulders, as the body that pressed him up against the half-height fridge. Blood and chocolate. _Need something...what? Oh, yeah...blood and chocolate...no - air! Need air! _

Spike finally pulled away, and the grin had become a smirk. "That's right, you have to breathe, don't you. Inconvenient, innit." He let go of Xander and stomped back to the table. "So, what's the verdict? Do I get to keep my chocolate crunchies?" He sat down in front of his bowl, spoon poised over it.

Xander peeled the crushed box of cereal from his chest. Shakily, he walked over and put it back on the table.

"Umm, yeah. All yours. Just...don't forget to wash the bowl out afterwards." He walked unsteadily back to his bed, and dived under the covers. He could hear Spike chuckling even with the pillow pulled over his head.

Sleep. He needed... _Chocolate and blood_ ...sleep. Yeah, that was it. So why couldn't he? _Chocolate and blood..._ Xander growled at himself, at the taste that was still in his mouth, and poked his head out from under the pillow.

"And Spike?"

"Yeh?"

"Turn off the damned light!"

Spike looked up from his crunching, and smiled. "Yes, dear," he replied sarcastically.

Xander pulled the pillow back over his head and sighed. "How I'm supposed to get any sleep with you around is beyond me!"

It might have been the distorting effect of the pillow, but he could have sworn he heard Spike say in a perfectly serious mutter, "Too bloody right."


End file.
